Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [88]
“Just a second,” I said.
I ran back into the house as Cary yelled, “What are you doing? We’ve got to go!” Bangs ran to meet me and I scooped her up into in my arms.
“You just wait,” I said, scratching the fur on her neck. “You’re not going to believe what I’m bringing home for you. You’ll love her as much as I do, and you’ll want to protect her as much as I do, and we will be a happy family together.” In my mind, the baby was a girl. I think I just knew. And a girl was what I wanted. My own mother had meant so much to me through my entire life that I loved the idea of re-creating that relationship with my own daughter. Bangs was giving me sandpapery kisses with her little tongue. “See you in a couple of days, sweet Bangs. Take good care of the house!”
“Slow down!” I yelled to Cary when we were on the road. He was driving like Godzilla was chasing us. “I’m not going to have the baby in the car!” Twenty minutes later, I was in the delivery room and in labor. An hour later, I was still in labor. Five hours, ten hours, fifteen hours . . . maybe the baby had heard Cary saying what a terrible place the world was, because she obviously was in no hurry to come into it. When it became apparent that we were in for a long haul, Cary persuaded the hospital staff to give him the room next door.
My labor pains were off the charts and Dr. Moss was preparing to give me an epidural when Cary objected. “Dear girl, we’ve been over this. A natural birth is best for the baby and for you.”
“THEN GIVE ME LSD! WOULD LSD BE OKAY? I’LL TAKE ANYTHING!”
“Dyan, truly, I am feeling the pain as deeply as you are.”
“YOU’RE FULL OF SHIT, CARY! Aaaaaaargh!”
When Cary left the room, I got the drugs.
It wasn’t until the next day, February 26, 1966, that our little bundle of joy finally made her way into the world. She weighed seven pounds, nine ounces. She was perfect. We named her Jennifer.
Flowers and gifts poured in from around the globe. Cary watched, bemused, as a parade of nurses brought me one bouquet after another, filling my room with color.
“Dyan, I thank God for bringing us together. This is truly the happiest day of my life.”
“It is for me, too,” I said. And it was. I don’t think I’d ever seen Cary look so exhausted. “Cary, go lay down awhile. You look beat.”
“I am. Twenty-two hours of labor is no joke. I’ve never been through anything like this before!”
I heard muffled giggling from the middle-aged nurse who’d just come in and overheard this last bit. She covered her mouth to keep from laughing and left to regain her composure. I took Cary’s hand. “Go rest,” I said maternally. “You’ve had a tough night. I’m so glad you overcame your fear of hospitals.”
Cary kissed me and went to lie down in his room.
I dozed for a while and awoke to see a nurse carry two vases of flowers out. I also noticed that about half the flowers had been removed. I asked her what she was doing. “Oh, Mr. Grant is so happy but so tired. He asked for some of the flowers in his room so he could look at them and think of the baby and you while he was resting,” she said, giving me a wink. “He was in labor for a long time, you know!” That gave me a chuckle.
That afternoon, I finally had Jennifer to myself. Cary had gone to take care of some business, the nurses and the child experts who were teaching me the fundamentals of motherhood (burping, diaper changing) had dispersed, and I drank the privacy and the quiet like nectar. Rocking Jennifer in my arms, I felt our two beings dissolve into one in a way that was not possible between any two beings but a mother and her child. And I talked to her in the secret language of mother and baby. I promised her I would be the best mother I could possibly be, that I would love her and defend her and teach her and nurture her, and that no harm could come to her that was in my power to stop. I said it with words, but I also said it with my heart. Jennifer looked at me for a long second, then relaxed her head against my breast. She had